


Oh So Slowly

by SomeCoolName



Series: Every Thought in Between [2]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Disabled Character, Dirty Talk, Finger Sucking, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Nipple Play, Sweet/Hot, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7368334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeCoolName/pseuds/SomeCoolName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hank, will you always be here?" Charles whispers.</p><p>"Of course,” Hank answers as if it’s absolutely evident.</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>This time, Hank doesn't open his lips. Charles gets closer to him, using his arms to move on the bed. He smiles at him, stretches out a hand and barely strokes the scientist's prickly chin with the tip of his fingers. Hank shivers but doesn't do anything to stop him. Charles leans a bit more until their breaths skim on each other’s faces before he asks:</p><p>"Can I kiss you?" </p><p>--(Alternate ending, one year after the event of “Every Thought in Between”. Can be read as a stand-alone.)--</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh So Slowly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [still_lycoris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/gifts).



**Note:** Hello everyone! Here's an alternate ending taking place one year after the events of _Every Thought in Between_ , which can be read as a stand-alone. I got so many feelings toward Charles/Hank relationship that I wanted to offer them a proper ~~smut~~ ending.   
This fic is also a gift to **Still_Lycoris** , who writes absolutely perfect Chank stories. Thank you so much **Still_Lycoris** for making us dream with all your amazing work! 

 **Beta:** the oh-so-perfect [deadoralive0013](http://archiveofourown.org/users/deadoralive0013/pseuds/deadoralive0013)! Thank you so so much dear.

 

 

* * *

 

Charles opens his eyes and breathes in. He didn’t realize he felt asleep and doesn’t know what time it is. He straightens up on his elbows and looks at the thin interstice that lets a cold blue light between the wall and the curtain pass. It’s still the moon which is lighting up the sky so he can fall back to sleep. He sighs and lays back before turning his face to his right. Next to him, lying down on his left side above the blanket, Hank is sleeping. His head is awkwardly resting on the mattress as he took away the pillows that belonged to Erik months ago. The position doesn’t seem comfortable but his face is peaceful. It’s strange to see next to him a body which isn’t Erik’s. They’re both tall but Hank’s hips are more pronounced and his hair is a bit longer. Even in half darkness, Charles can tell.

 

Erik constantly moves during his sleep. When they crossed the United States in the Sixties, Charles and him stopped in a hotel in Colorado. They had slept together that night and Charles had woken up first, shaken by Erik’s unconscious body. He had dared to put his fingers on his own temples to try to peek through the nightmares troubling his lover but the memories that were assailing him were strongly anchored in his mind, too deep. Charles didn’t want - and didn’t had the strength - to dip into the German’s memory. He came back to his senses with a bittersweet taste in his mouth and feeling nauseous. He didn’t know what he had just seen, but he wanted one thing: to tell Erik he was _here_ , that he was _forgiving him_. The next morning, he woke up alone and found his lover in front of a generous breakfast. As every morning following his nightmares, Erik didn’t seem to recall any of the disturbing images. He was smiling, well-rested. Charles minimized his headache and never dared to confess to Erik that he had tried to reach for his mind without his consent; Erik wouldn’t have liked it one bit and Charles was ashamed of it already anyway. Despite how many people saw him, Charles wasn’t always doing good things with his powers.

 

Now that he fully stopped using the serum, at least his powers are back. They’re still a bit weak, especially in the morning but as he thought he had definitely lost them months ago and that the perspective frightened him more than words could tell, he knows now that nothing can replace his telepathy. Not even his legs.

 

They left him too.

 

A lot of things and people leave Charles. But not Hank.

 

How Hank was able to support him through his darkest hours, Charles has no idea. When Charles used to lose himself in pain, he was so cruel he wasn't fully aware of the words that were coming out of his own mouth. In those moments, he's not proud of it but he was thinking about someone. _Erik_. Maybe it's because he was missing him, even in the tiny spaces between each passing second, that Charles was acting like him. Hurting and being mean. While Charles would have loved him enough for a lifetime if Erik had let him.

 

Charles frowns and leaves his thoughts to observe again the man that fell asleep on his bed while they were talking about the first semester at the _Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters_.

 

Hank.

 

Hank, who stayed when everyone left.  Hank, who helped him get back on his feet every time Charles fell. Hank, who is slowly opening his eyes.

 

"Is everything all right... ?" Hank wonders, straightening up, barely awake.

 

"Yes," he reassures him by smiling lightly. "Hank, will you always be here?"

 

Hank passes a hand under his glasses to force himself to wake up quickly. He looks at Charles, frowning, and answers as if it's absolutely evident:

 

"Of course."

 

Charles smiles, touched, and asks:

 

"Why?"

 

This time, Hank doesn't answer. He doesn't even open his lips. Charles gets closer to him, using his arms to move on the bed. He smiles at him, stretches out a hand and barely strokes the scientist's prickly chin with the tip of his fingers. Hank shivers but doesn't do anything to stop him. He strokes his cheek now and leans a bit more until their breaths skim on each other’s faces. Hank's chest rises and sinks deeply. He's looking at Charles and his body doesn't show any sign of being disinclined, not even for one second.

 

"Can I kiss you?" Charles asks and this time Hank touches him too.

 

He raises his hand and rests it on the professor's cheek before sliding to his hair, stroking gently. Charles closes his eyes for one second and turns his face to brush against Hank's fingers with his lips. The taste of Hank's skin on his mouth is enough to make him smile. There are a lot of reasons which are pushing him to want what is happening right now and most of them doesn't concern Erik, Charles is sure about that. Hank raises his left hand to cup Charles' face and holds it tenderly. Hank's hands on him, his smell, his breath, Charles gradually gets hard by those things. He rest their foreheads together and Charles' lips open.

 

"You're afraid..." Charles whispers and that makes him smile nonetheless.

 

"I’m not..."

 

"Hank, I _feel_ it, you're afraid... But I can feel you want it, too."

 

Charles gets closer again and slides between Hank's parted legs. He understands Hank's reluctance. From what he knows, Hank only had affairs with women and he's still too young to know pleasure can be found in both genders. Plus there were of course all those years spent next to each other, where Hank's gestures have been mostly those of a _nurse_ , a friend sometimes but never the wariness of a _lover's_. And here they are tonight, on this bed, and what Charles is feeling is strong enough to make him want their skins to touch and lips to meet. It may not be love as Hank perceives it but Charles is willing to help him discover the many things that can unite two persons like them, on a night like this.

 

He is preventing himself from seducing Hank the way he's used too, with enough alcohol in his blood and crude words he whispers in the ears of his targets. Charles doesn't quite have limits, given his past experiences, sometimes with men, sometimes with women, sometimes with both. It's probably thanks to his powers and his capacity to understand others that the professor feels so much pleasure in bed. But Hank doesn't have the confidence -nor Erik's need to dominate- so Charles knows he has to guide him through it.

 

He smiles at Hank and takes off his own pajama top. Hank's eye are following the movement and his cheeks redden when he sees the naked chest. The indecision gives way to excitement, literally everywhere in the room and Charles' ardor, tangled with the Beast's goes to Charles' head who feels like he's losing control. He straddles Hank's legs.  

 

"Come here..." he whispers, pressing their chests together, his arms going around Hank's neck who finishes the movement by kissing him. _Finally_.

 

The first contact isn't electric, not one of those which give Charles the feeling of his own body collapsing within himself. The first time their lips touch, it's like they always knew each other. Charles is a bit disappointed in himself for not feeling the tiny heartache that usually turns him upside down. He's not invaded by his feelings alone as Hank's seem too big for Charles not to receive them in his own mind. There's the taste of transgression and taboo which are burning in Hank and an implicit desire which is steadily growing. This desire doesn't have a precise shape and Charles prevents himself from searching deep in Hank's mind for an explanation.

 

They open their mouth now and Charles, playful, doesn't make the first move. He lets Hank wait, their breaths tangled, their tongues static. It only lasts a few seconds before Hank's hands become more intense, his body leaning a bit more on Charles' who slowly falls backward, held by the scientist's arms. And when Hank can't wait anymore, he moans and slides his tongue between Charles' open lips, whose eyes roll back in his head.

Who would have thought Henry Hank McCoy was such an amazing kisser? The movement of his lips is made of tenderness sprinkled with a dominant need that Charles recognizes thanks to his own need to be dominated. It has nothing to do with Erik, with his almost lethal way in closing his lips around Charles'. It's a declaration of love by itself, the way his mouth kisses, strokes, adores. He takes his time as if there's not another place in the world he should be right now and maybe that's the case, in the end.

 

Charles doesn't hold himself back and moans, again and again. He doesn't feel the blatant echo of what is driving Hank right now, too focused on feeling on his tongue, the one that is sliding back and forth. The kiss ends only because Hank draws back as Charles would have never had the absurd idea to stop it.

 

"Hank, that was..."

 

"Good?" he asks with a worried smile and then timidity invades them both. Hank isn't aware of what he's offering and the idea that Charles will be the one to help him discover it, turns the professor on to a point that he's a bit ashamed of himself.

“ _More_ ," Charles begs with a sigh.

 

They lean towards each other with more urgency, their bodies almost gravitating towards the other helplessly. Hank, still holding the professor 's back with his arm, lays him down under him. Charles deepens the kiss, frustrated that he is not able to move his pelvis as he'd like to. Hank understands it because he presses his thigh between Charles' legs a bit more and that makes him bite the scientist's lips with excitement. Hank automatically moves his head back, confused - at least Charles knows Hank doesn't like a bit of pain play. Well. He can try to do without it. He pulls on his lover's neck and kisses his chin, his lips. It still takes a few seconds for Hank before he leans again and kisses him back, then his shoulder and his chest, everywhere. He literally kisses _every_ inch of his skin. Charles wonders when was the last time someone treated his body that way but the idea that it's the first scares him so he closes his mind to any comparison and finally stops thinking about Erik.

"Your skin is soft..." Hank sighs on his sternum before laying a kiss on top of it.

 

"That's not the kind of thing I’m used to hear," Charles laughs, adorably.

 

"Then they don't know how they ought to talk to you."

 

Charles blames himself for having mentioning those who have been close enough to inspect what is under his clothes, but Hank, incredible and amazing _Hank_ , achieves the impossible as he utters the right words to bring back to life a part in Charles' mind that he thought was dead. He looks at the face in front of him, so mature, and strokes his cheekbones with his thumbs before he whispers:

"What about you... do you want to talk to me, Hank?"

 

“... I don’t want it to be like what it was with them.”

 

“It won’t.”

 

 _It’s already not_ , Charles wants to add without precisely knowing what they’re talking about anymore.

 

He lowers his head, chin almost touching his chest, to keep on looking at Hank who kisses his left nipple. He lingers on it until the humid touch and the coolness of the room make it grow stiff. Hank moans and this time closes his lips around Charles’ nipple who can do nothing else but smile. It’s a tender and sensual movement but it proves that Hank only had affairs with women, as it’s not a very erogenous zone for men. It doesn’t bother Charles (he knew a man who had ridiculously ticklish nipples) but it’s not particularly pleasant either. He lets Hank act nonetheless, gently rubbing his neck.

 

It lasts precious seconds while Charles is doing nothing but watching Hank’s tongue on him. He doesn’t quite know what will happen tonight, he’s not even sure Hank won’t stop anything suddenly, caught up by the silly idea that it’s not something they should do. But now that it’s happening, now that their lips touch and Hank’s hands are making him shiver, Charles understands it couldn’t have ended up in any other way. He slightly frowns and raises his head. Hank’s lips are back on his left nipple and that makes Charles’ back arch. It’s not exactly pain that is coursing through him, but it’s not pleasure either, still the fact remains that he’s _feeling_ something.

 

“Hank…” he breathes out, clenching his fingers on the short hair.

 

Hank doesn’t stop and softly sucks and _yes, there it is_ , it’s pleasure that racks through Charles’ body in the end. He moans, closing his eyes, back arching as he feels Hank’s hand sliding on his spine. Hank doesn’t use his teeth, only his tongue and his hot breath blowing on the nipples which makes them blissfully harder. It’s the sensuality of his touches and the adoration given to his body that are arousing Charles.

 

“Is it good… ?” Hanks wonders and if _his_ voice is hoarse, Charles can only imagine how depraved his must sound.

 

He nods and presses the tip of his fingers on Hank’s neck to silently ask for more. Hank doesn’t waste any time and this time sucks Charles’ right nipple, occupying the other one with his fingers.

 

Charles wonders _why_ it is so good and _why_ it has never felt this good before. He remembers having his nipple played with more than once, bitten, pinched to a point he had to use his safeword. But the feeling only swung between _nothing_ and _too much_. What Hank is doing now is perfect. It sends small shocks of pleasure across the professor’s chest, trailing down his body and making his cock twitch. It turns him on so much, Charles can’t hold back moaning anymore:

 

“Yes, yes it’s good… _God_ , Hank... “  

 

Hank sucks one last time before raising his head to kiss Charles’ lips. His lips are wet and warm, calming his which are dry. Charles sobs in the kiss, resting a hand on Hank’s cheek to pull him closer, _closer_. Hank’s hand drifts along the pale chest until it reaches between Charles’ legs. His thumb barely presses Charles’ hole, brushing his rim and starts to push in but Charles almost jumps in surprise.

 

“Wait…” he smiles at him and catches his wrist to bring the scientist’ hand to his face.

 

Hank frowns one second before he understands that he forgot something important. His face morphs into a sorry pout before his cheeks get red when he sees Charles’ lips closing around his thumb. He wets it with his tongue, slowly, patiently. He just wanted to get it nice and wet but there’s an underlying pleasure to having something in his mouth so Charles _sucks_ , taking his sweet time. He whines quietly, closes his eyes and focuses on his new task, feeling Hank’s gaze on him. It’s getting really difficult not to tell him what his presence is doing to him, Charles isn’t sure he’ll be able to wait until they finish what they started. He doesn’t want to talk -nor to think- about it yet so he brings back Hank’s hand between his legs and kisses his chin.

 

Hank’s face is red. Not _it’s-warm-here_ red. Not _everybody-is-looking-at-me-and-I-hate-it_ red. It’s the prettiest color that exists in that shade: it’s _I-can’t-believe-Charles-just-did-that_ red. He hides his face against Charles’ neck and rains kisses on it. He presses his now wet thumb against his hole and waits for Charles to breathe out before pushing in, knuckle-deep. His eyes don’t leave the professor for one second, watching his reactions and Charles can’t help but close his, mouth panting. He tenses on the sheets, trying to get used to the presence in him. It’s just the start, it’s not even much, but it foreshadows so much more and it’s been almost a year since he slept with... _someone_. It’s always a bit painful, whether one is used to it or not, there’s this bittersweet burn Charles still doesn’t know how to love without hating it first. He’s not making a sound, not moving at all to make Hank understand he must not move his thumb yet. He barely strokes Charles’ chest, letting him time to get used to his finger.

 

"It won't be enough..." Hank whispers.

 

He slowly takes out his thumb and rises from the bed. Charles watches him going through the drawers with hasty movements and a pair of jeans that seems too tight around his crotch. Charles smiles, delighted by the promise of what's hiding behind the blue fabric and it's enough to forgive Hank for having abandoned him without pulling the blanket up on him.

Charles' bedroom has a different atmosphere tonight. Things are not quite how they used to be and Charles wonders if the grass in the garden will be softer under his fingers or if the colors of the paintings in the main living-room will be brighter. Charles can't wait to discover life now that Hank is a part of his.

Hank comes back with a small Vaseline jar and neither would have thought that what they’ve once put on Hank's sprained wrist last month would help them through a much more intimate act. Charles grins and crosses his arms on his chest.

 

"... What?" Hank wonders, scared he did something wrong.

 

"Take off your clothes," Charles simply answers. "For me? Please..."

"I should be able to say _no_ to you, sometimes..." Hank smiles even if it's crystal clear he doesn't even want to try to as he's unbuttoning his shirt already.

 

"One day you'll know how to do so," Charles distractedly answers, the words coming out of his mouth before he's even aware of it.  

 

He settles himself on the bed so his legs are dangling out of it. He raises his hands to touch Hank's chest and leans to smooches the tender skin on top of the hairs creating a path leading down and under his jeans. Hank is looking at him while he throws away his shirt and cups his face before he whispers:

 

"Why are you so afraid that I could leave you... ?"

 

Charles arches an eyebrow at the same time as a corner of his mouth and laughs to cover the dreadful feeling of having a part of his soul burning to pieces. It's hard, harder than words can tell, to hear Hank say out loud his fear which is plaguing his life, daily - whether he acknowledges it or not.

 

"Because that's what people do, right? They come, we live, they leave... And _bis repetita_?" He smiles, wrecked.

Hank shakes his head, giving the impression that what Charles is saying isn't acceptable. His thumbs stop stroking the professor’s cheekbones to answer:

 

"Not me, Charles."

 

 _You will leave too_ , his mind quickly accuses but instead, he only asks, "Why?"

 

If Charles is smiling right now it's to prevent the tears from running down his cheeks. It's shameful, he looks like a kid right now and maybe it's because what they're talking about hits things inside of him which are as old as his bones.

 

"Because I love you."

 

Charles frowns. He tries to pull him to make Hank get on with it and fuck him as he doesn't want to hear again those words, born from sincerity in people’s hearts before the words died as if they were never uttered in the first place, like it was just a bloody mirage. But Hank doesn't let him and kisses his lips, his neck, with even more delicacy, his fingers softly pressing his skin to prove to him that he's here.

"I won't leave you. Ever. You're the only one since... Almost ten years. There'll only be you. Because of that, I'll wait."

It takes a few seconds for Charles to understand something's not clear. He shakes his head and wonders:

 

"You'll wait... For what?"

 

"For you love to love me back. The way you loved Erik. And even more."

"Hank, that's not..."

 

He doesn't know how he could lie to him, make him understand how much he needs him in his life without using the same words he knows he doesn't feel for Hank yet. But Hank kneels and repeats, looking at him.

 

"I know. I'll wait."

Slowly he makes him spread his legs and Charles lays back on the mattress. Eyes fixing the ceiling, he thinks about all those times he ended up on this bed, in this position, body hurting and cherished in turns. He sobs when Hank presses his forefinger covered with lube in him and closes his eyes, his lips, the door to his fears. More than the blanket, it’s Hank’s pure adoration that is wrapping him in warmth tonight.

 

Even if he was able to move his legs, he would have let Hank settle him the way he’s doing right now: folded until his knees almost touch his own chest. Charles doesn’t mind being exposed _at all_ ; it’s nothing compared  to what he confessed to Hank. What _Hank_ confessed to him. He shudders until a moan escapes his lips when Hank withdraws and pushes back his finger. _Bloody hell_ it hurts and Charles simply hates those few minutes his body has to go through before the overwhelming pleasure of having someone in him - not in his mind - breaks him in two.

 

Would he still use the word _break_ , with Hank?

 

Charles guesses not.

 

“Please tell me if I’m doing anything wrong,” Hank almost whines, kissing his thigh, lazily moving his finger in and out.

 

“You’d hear me curse…” Charles grins, looking at him while raising his head.

 

They look at each other, smiling and Charles’ heart skips a beat when the obscene vision of Hank between his open legs hits him. He’s so close to his cock yet he still hasn’t touch it. Charles thinks it’s because Hank has never put his hand on anybody else’s cock before and it’s all right, really, it’s even cute. Despite the fact that Charles is more the kind of guy who likes his lovers experienced, Hank’s awkwardness is absolutely lovely. Charles can’t wait to get wrecked by Hank’s merciless fondness.

 

He groans a bit when Hank’s only moving the tip of his finger deep in him and settles on his elbow to touch his lover’s shoulder.

 

“Wait, Hank, don’t…” He reaches between his own legs and gently encourages Hank’s hand to twist so the tip of his forefinger can now stroke sweeter spots in him. “There, that’s better, darling… Please don’t stop moving?” he asks, smiling a bit and Hank’s only too happy to oblige.

 

He moves his finger back and forth with more confidence this time and Charles growls out of pain and pleasure both. He keeps his hand on Hank’s shoulder, alternatively looking at his lover’s expression and the forearm between his motionless legs. They take their time, absorbed between pleasure and warmth until Charles’ asks Hank to add another finger. He hands him the vaseline jar and this time barely winces when Hank spreads him a bit more. Charles’s finger is slowly stroking his lover’s neck, feeling the fast beating pulse of his heart there. Charles licks his lips and helps himself with his free hand to straightens up a bit. Almost sitting now, he gets their foreheads closer and drunkenly whispers:

 

“I can’t wait to feel you inside me…”

 

The pulse under his thumb quickens and that makes him shamefully smile even more. Too proud to be able to turn Hank on that easily he certainly doesn’t expect him to respond:

 

“Me too, Charles... My God you have no idea how many times I… how many _nights I_ …” he doesn’t finish his sentence and starts moving his two fingers more eagerly, face set with concentration. They’re not preparing Charles anymore, they’re _fucking_ him.

 

His lips open in a silent ‘ _O’_ as his eyes catch glimpse of his lover’s hand moving back and forth between his legs. The pressure inside him is too much so he lays back and this time Hank settles above him. He adjust Charles’ legs so they stay wide open and leans down to kiss his chin and lips.

 

“Tell me,” Charles pants. “When…”

 

He can’t help the moan escaping his lips when Hank _decides_ to add a third finger. His pace is sustained, his movement a bit harsher than before. He doesn’t speak anymore and his voice resonates deep in Charles’ mind.

 

_‘The night you fell asleep in your study and I got you back to your bed.’_

 

_‘Did you touch yourself then?’_

 

 _‘... I went back to my room, took a shower and… Yeah,’_ the answer comes with the sweet taste of shame and arousal that makes Charles licks his own lips.

 

 _‘Keep going,’_ he begs, hands clutching at his muscular shoulders.

 

Hank takes out his hand and straightens to take off his pants. Charles can’t see but hears it and it’s enough to make him whimper. Hank settles back on the bed and presses the tip of his cock to Charles’ lubed entrance.

 

 _‘The first time we were able to use Cerebro again. Last month. The way you smiled and laughed and_ succeeded _… You turned me on so much that day...’_

 

 _‘Yes,’_ Charles answers because he remembers that day. _‘Yes,’_ he adds because they did succeeded in making it work. “Yes,” he moans out loud because Hank is _finally_ entering him.

 

They deeply breathe in and there’s not a single sound in the room anymore apart from it. Charles’ hands firmly holds on to his lover’s shoulder, Hank slowly filling him, still holding the base of his erection. Charles doesn’t even know what his eyes are looking at anymore: he recognizes a glimpse of Hank’s chest, a bit of his left leg and the sweat pearls on his _own_ temple. He blinks when he understands Hank’s feelings and thoughts are so strong right now, literally leaking from him, that Charles got caught in his mind and sees himself through his lover’s eyes. He slowly withdraws from Hank’s consciousness to focus on his own already overwhelmed one and sobs when he realizes how deep Hank is now.

 

“Are you…”

 

“Fine, more than fine…” Charles lightly laughs despite himself. “I should be able to get my legs around your waist to keep you right here…”

 

Hank smirks and catches his lover’s calves to surround his own waist with Charles’ legs.

 

“You just did,” he shrugs and Charles can say a lot of things but a kiss is the best way to express how much he cares for this man.

 

He presses his lips against his, slides his tongue in the panting mouth and invades it with more compulsion than delicacy this time. He practically growls when Hank withdraws before pushing back in. The pleasure building in his lower belly is heavy, warm. It’s painful, it always is, but it’s worth the agony when the promise of getting to come, fucked like this, is resplendent. Charles’ hand blindly touches the sheets around them, searching for the vaseline jar he finds before awkwardly plunging his fingers in it. He holds his own hard leaking cock and starts to stroke it, not missing Hank’s eyes on him while he’s doing so. Charles smiles and closes his, settling back his head on the pillow. He focuses on the intensifying hip thrusts, the way it burns and frees at the same time. He clenches around Hank’s cock, sometimes it’s even unintentional. Charles is too lost in the heat of the moment when he realizes his wrist is moving faster and faster and that he’ll do nothing to stop. He strokes Hank’s cheek, looking at his lovely red face and smooches his lips.

 

_‘Come inside me...’_

 

Hank nods, once, twice, until his head is bobbing in rhythm with his hard thrusts. He puts both of his hands on the mattress, surrounding Charles’ head for support and starts to fuck him in earnest. Charles’ free hand slides on his shoulders until it strokes the nice hollow at the small of his back. He’s so close to coming but he still waits for Hank who’s panting above him, eyes closed, tongue licking his dry lips, adorably focused and wrecked by the intensity of their fucking.

 

“Say it out loud…” he groans and Charles’ smile might be brighter than the light bulb on the bedside table.

 

Well, if Hank McCoy turns out to be the kind of guy who needs a bit of dirty talk to come, Charles is clearly one lucky man.

 

He sinks his fingers deeper in Hank’s back and doesn’t restrain his voice when he begs:

 

“Come inside me, _please_ , Hank.”

 

Hank whines and thanks to that noise alone Charles knows he’s starting to come himself.

 

“Come, darling…”

 

Charles stops to look at his lover, just in time to see the first strip of come hitting his own abdomen and quickly raises his face again to try to catch Hank’s gaze even if he still has his eyes closed when Charles sighs:

 

“Make me _yours_.”

 

The growl that escapes Hank’s panting mouth is almost not human and it hits Charles deep in his bones and mind: the overwhelming intensity of Hank’s own orgasm overtakes his consciousness to the point that Charles’ feels the underlying presence of the Beast, his hunger, his need to _own_. On Hank’s forearms next to his head, the veins are so much bigger and bluer than usual. He still hasn’t opened his eyes and Charles thinks he sees a fang rubbing against his lover’s bottom lip but it’s too quick for him to be sure, especially when he’s feeling the warmness of Hank sinking in him. He moans, face covered with the most powerful smile he had in a long time and lazily keeps stroking Hank’s back until he heavily falls on him. They messily kiss, short of breath, before Hank finally opens his eyes. He looks at Charles, and strokes his face to push back the hair stuck on his forehead because of sweat.

 

“Better late than never,” Charles lets escape from his reddened lips before he realizes what a lame thing it is to say.

 

“I love you,” answers Hank, breathless, with the most tender smile.

 

It’s a good thing Hank doesn’t hold against Charles the old and odd expressions he sometimes says. Charles smiles too and hugs him a bit tighter.

  


  


\---

 

Charles is aware of the air rushing up his nostrils, crossing his throat and filling his lungs - he's waking up. He stretches out his numb neck and slowly turns around. He slept against Hank, his head resting on the hollow of his shoulder. His eyes are coming up to the younger man's face, so peaceful, and are leaning down to his chest where his own hand is. He can't quite believe they slept like this, without moving during the whole night. It seems too good to be true.

 

Just like the night they had.

 

Charles straightens and passes a hand in his own hair. He's observing Hank, his manly beauty he never quite saw before yesterday evening, and turns around to let his legs fall from the bed. He breathes in and firmly bites his lip to hold back a painful moan from escaping him - he doesn't want to wake up Hank. After all the tenderness and the _love_ \- given Hank's own words - Charles doesn't want to remind him the harsh reality of living with a disabled man just yet. Much less so if they're fucking, on top of it.

 

He's stroking his thigh and mentally insults the _Erik from the beach_ (a technique recommended by the shrink he saw for a few months after Cuba to make the most out of the placebo effect and to hurt the same way he's been hurt) and takes out two pills for the pain from his medication box . It's been months since Charles has started to rise above his addiction and has not fallen back in his previous demons' arms but Hank still controls the dosage to make sure he doesn't take too much of his pills. Charles looks at him behind his shoulder. He presses his fingers on his own temple to confirm that Hank is deeply sleeping. Charles could take one extra pill, Hank would never know...

 

_No._

 

He swallows just what he needs and that'll be enough. He gets dressed and settles on his armchair before leaving his bedroom.

 

Charles loves mornings as others love evenings. He likes the tender and timid light, the silence and especially the feeling being the only one who was able to get out of Morpheus’ arms to live the real life. He feels all around him the sleepy minds, as if his head is gracefully resting on cotton and enters the kitchen to prepare some tea. The water is boiling lazily so he sits at the kitchen table and there's a smile on his lips. He's thinking about Raven, about the way she used to swing her feet under her chair while laughing at Alex's macho confidence and Sean's impression of Erik in the morning. He wonders where she is now, if she is okay. If she misses him as much as he misses her.

 

_What would she say if she knew about Hank and him?_

 

He shakes his head. What should only liven up Charles' mind this morning is the school and next month’s schedule he has to take care of. He is filling the teapot when Hank enters the room.

 

"I was going to bring you breakfast in bed."

 

"That's sweet," Hank smiles, walking in the room.

 

He stops next to the gas cooker and observes Charles' movements. They're not touching each other and Charles doesn't know what to think about that. He prepares the tea and looks at him with a tender smile on his lips.

 

"Slept well?"

 

"Yes," Hank answers as if it's the most beautiful word in the world.

 

Charles nods. He turns around to pick up a bowl and the milk bottle.

 

"Do you want some sugar with your cereal? I don't even know..."

 

"Always with The Kellogg's."

 

"It's true, it's tasteless if you don't had some sugar on it."

 

They smile above the bowl Charles is preparing and there's no reason to hold back anymore. They lean at the exact same second, their lips touching to say _hello_. Charles puts back the milk bottle to rest his hands on Hank's shoulders who slightly turns his head to deepen the kiss. They slowly stop before Hank showers kisses on Charles' forehead and cheeks.

 

"We can eat breakfast here if you want, as none of the kids will wake up for the next hour..."

 

"How do you know..."

 

 _That I'm already exhausted from using my wheelchair_ , he prevents himself from finishing his sentence.

 

"I know," Hank answers, sliding his hand in his lover's hair.

 

Charles nods and sits first. He savors his perfectly infused tea and watches Hank devour his breakfast, eyes fixed on the back of the cereal box. It’s a habit which used to make their friends laugh but Charles always found it sweet and today more than ever. He's close to putting his hand on Hank's thigh when someone enters the room.

 

It's Warren and he's smiling at them, surprised to see the professor eating in the kitchen as he usually eats in his office to start work even before the day starts. Charles pours a cup of tea for Warren and listens to him talk with enthusiasm about a student to whom he learnt how to use his wings. He switches off from the conversation when Warren talks about the next exams and discreetly turns his head to Hank. He'd like to talk to him using his powers but he still has a bit of trouble in the morning. So it's by his tender gaze that he’s trying to tell Hank how good he feels just sitting next to him and Hank smiles. Charles doesn't need his power to be understood by Hank.

 

Maybe that's love after all.

 

"Warren?" Charles suddenly asks. "Can I ask you something?"

 

"Of course."

 

"I'd like to know if you're embarrassed by the idea of living under the same roof as two men in a relationship? It's 1974 so I know mentalities have changed - especially for your generation - but as Hank and I are a couple, I wouldn't want it to be a problem for you. And if it is, I could only ask you to leave the mansion."

 

Hank's spoon noisily falls in his bowl. He turns around to look at the professor with big wondering eyes behind his glasses.

 

"Er... No. No I don't mind at all... I didn't know about you two but... I think that's cool."

 

"I think it's pretty groovy too. And please remind me to give you the papers you need for next week examinations," concludes Charles, resting his hand on Hank's.

 

Warren's voice oscillates between awkwardness and high-pitched noise for still a few seconds until the weird moment is definitely over. He offers to prepare the table for the kids and exits the room, leaving behind Charles and Hank who quickly asks:

 

"Can we talk about what just happened... ?"

 

"I'm sorry, Hank, I should have talked to you about it first. It's just that I was picturing us, hiding every time from everybody and I don't want to live that way again. Especially not with you. Do you mind... ?"

 

Hank frowns, apparently saddened that Charles could even doubt it.

 

"No, of course not."

 

He leans and kisses him lightly on the lips before he whispers:

 

"You can do whatever you want with me, Charles."

 

And _that's_ precisely the point which could be their tragedy as for years Charles only searched for lovers with a unique failure that made them impossible for him to reach, from his powers or from his own desires. But Hank will let him do everything he wants. _Everything_. And it’s as if he’s reborn again, to feel this trust from someone else. Complete. And so tender.

  
He smiles and kisses him back.


End file.
